To make you well
by StarryDreamer01
Summary: Jemma feels responsible for what has happened to Fitz. (Post 1x22 speculation)


**A/N:** The other day I was linked to an article written by Jamie Lovett, who'd interviewed Elizabeth Henstridge about the upcoming season. **(S2 Spoiler alert- skip over the italics if you want to avoid)** In the interview, Elizabeth said, "_For Simmons, she's changed a lot from what happened at the end of last season, and her relationship with Fitz is obviously strained and fractured [because of] the guilt she feels for taking the oxygen. So their relationship is something that we're going to explore more, with undercurrents of guilt and regret and all of that." _

That's where this story was born from. It just swallowed me whole and I couldn't stop. I ended up writing this one-shot in a little over a day. I hope you enjoy!

P.S. There are no spoilers in this fic, it's purely speculation driven.

* * *

Jemma is in Fitz's room when he first wakes from his coma. He's panicked and confused and pulls at his respirator, moaning through the mouth guard, begging for her help. Immediately she reaches forward and gently pulls his hands away from his mouth and tries to soothe him as she presses the call button for the nurse.

"Just relax," she whispers, her thumb gently brushing at his hairline. "I'm here. Everything is okay." She wishes that she believed her own words, but they succeed in satiating him, the tension releasing from his body.

His fingers grip at her hand and his eyes scream words at her that she can only imagine. She looks away in shame and when the nurse finally arrives, she pulls her hand away, eager to leave the room. She can't bear the weight of knowing what she's caused and tears sting fresh in her eyes. The nurse tells her that she can stay, that she's sure her friend would want her to. Jemma can only shake her head in reply, fear grips her entirely.

She avoids Fitz's room despite the fact that the medical wing shares a hall with her lab. Thankfully, his bed is tucked into a corner and when she walks past his doorway, she practically glues herself to the opposite wall, hopeful that she's out of sight.

The doctors tell her that Fitz has been asking for her and Skye begs her to see him. She jokes that she's sick of hearing stories about the Academy and SciOps and holidays at the North York Moors and the Scottish Highlands.

"He misses you," Skye coaxes.

Jemma is adamant that Skye is mistaken. She's acutely aware that at every meal a nurse has to cut up his food because he can't hold a knife steady in his hands. She's heard that he needs assistance just to get from his bed to the washroom because he's unable to stand and walk on his own. And, she notes pointedly, his doctors have said that it's unlikely he will recover from the damage to his primary motor cortex. She's heard the crashing of his food tray and his screams of frustration.

Skye furrows her eyebrows and throws her hands to her hips. "So?"

Her response is muted. "I can't."

"He just wants to talk to you."

What could she begin to say to him?

Skye shakes her head and tells her that she's certain she'll regret it later. What Jemma wants to say but doesn't, is that it'll simply be piled atop the innumerable other regrets that already haunt her. Instead, she shrugs her shoulders and plays as if she's dismissive and uncaring. Out of the corner of her eye she catches Skye frown and when she says nothing more, the hacker exhales her breath in a puff of frustration.

"Have it your way then," she says sharply.

Sooner than Jemma expects, Fitz is moving about the compound, a walking cane at his side to help with his balance. He was always stubborn and unrelenting on his projects and it really shouldn't surprise her that his recovery process isn't any different. But it does. She quickly becomes adept at hiding from him, his unmistakable _thump-shuffle-shuffle_ acting as a warning to whenever he's approaching.

The Playground isn't particularly large and eventually she does run into him. While she still can't properly meet his eyes, he breaks the tension and asks after his DWARFs. Her reply is mechanical and almost immediately his smile fades.

He's always known her better than she even knows herself and he catches on to the distance she's trying in vain to create between them.

"So that's it then?" He says more as a statement than a question. "After everything?"

She doesn't respond but chances a glance at his face and it nearly cracks her resolve. Her nails pinch at the back of her hand and she attempts to measure her reaction.

"Is this what you imagined?" He motions between them, vexed. Her nails dig a little deeper. "Ri'then."

"I'm sorry," she says at last. Her words are whispered, a shudder from her heart.

_She's sorry she didn't insist he take the last breath of air._ She is the better swimmer and should've been able to hold her breath long enough on her own.

_She's sorry that she couldn't swim faster, harder, further._ If she had he wouldn't have suffered as he did.

_She's sorry that it's because of her he'll never be the same again._ She should've insisted that he take the air.

_She's sorry that she couldn't tell him when it mattered the most how she really felt about him._ It scared her too much to face the truth even if it was to be the last thing she would ever say to him.

But her words fail her and before she can stop him he's walking away. She thinks it's probably for the best

_Thump-shuffle-shuffle. _

She knows it is.

…

She dreams of the ocean, its currents dragging her down. She struggles to keep Fitz above water, but his weight is too much and they sink. Her head goes under again and the salt water burns in her throat. She thrashes, trying to make her way to the surface, one arm holding tight to Fitz's collar, the other thrusting herself forward. When she breaks the surface again, she gasps, desperate for air and strength. She grabs for Fitz, using every last bit of energy she has to bring him to the surface. Her hand breaks through the darkness and she's horrified to see that it's empty. She screams, her exhausted body threading water. She tries to dive back under and search for him, but it's in vain; the water is too deep, too dark.

A hand shakes at her shoulder and calls her name.

"Jems?" It's a name she hasn't heard since her days at the Academy. He calls her again, his hand taking hold of her with more force. "Wake up! It's just a dream."

Her pillow is damp and her face tear stained. In her haze she grabs for the person that sits next to her and wraps her arms around his torso, sobbing into his chest. He murmurs soothing words into her hair and pulls her tighter against him.

"Relax," he says. "I'm here. Everything's okay."

When she's calmed enough, he moves to turn on the overhead light.

In the darkness she hears the unmistakable: _Thump-shuffle-shuffle._

"Fitz?"

"Who'd ye think it was?" There's laughter in his voice and she can't believe what she's seeing.

"Why're you here?"

His face softens when he rejoins her on the bed. "I heard you screaming." His fingers nervously pick at the worn threads of her comforter.

Jemma pulls her knees to her chin, suddenly self-conscious and runs the palms of her hands across her face. "Did I wake you?"

He shakes his head and his shoulders roll forward as his gaze falls. "Most nights I can't sleep. I usually just walk about, helps me ta'think. That's when I heard you."

"Oh." She tucks her chin further into her knees. "Sorry."

He frowns. "Don't be." Fitz's eyes flit to his hands which twitch in his lap. "You were dreaming of the water weren't you?"

Her face reddens and she nods.

"I dream about it too, ye'know."

"Yeah?" Her whispered voice cracks in surprise.

Fitz nods and his face pales a bit, a stark contrast to her own embarrassed features. "I dream that I can't save you, that it swallows us both. It's why I try not to sleep; I can't bear it." He pauses and his eyes rise to meet her own. "I'm so sorry," he exhales, relief flooding his body.

Jemma shakes her head. She's confused and is certain she's misheard. There is nothing for him to apologize for; she is the only source of their misfortune. "I don't understand."

"I know seeing me like this must be an ugly thing. It's why you haven't come to see me since we got here, in'it? I'm no fool, Jemma; I can barely bear to look at myself in the mirror most days."

She shakes her head, ready to protest. _He has it all wrong._

But he raises his hand, motioning for her to let him finish.

"I'm most sorry that you have to see me like this. It can't be easy for you, knowing that I can't be the partner you need me to be. That I'm so much trouble for you." His face cracks, all his determination crumbling before her. He bats quickly at a tear that has escaped down his cheek and draws in a deep, shaky breath. "I've asked Coulson to be transferred to the Safehouse. I'll be gone by the end of the week."

"No!" She cries in surprise, pushing up onto her knees. Her hands reach for him, her trepidation shoved aside when her thumb wipes at his fresh tears. "You can't leave! I need you. _Here_."

Fitz shakes his head. "I don't understand. Today in the hall-"

"It's all my fault!" She gasps shakily, falling back on her heels. Without thinking, she allows the truth that she'd bottled for months to spill out in words that come quick, worried and heartbroken.

_She's sorry she didn't insist he take the last breath of air._

_She's sorry that she couldn't swim faster, harder, further._

_She's sorry that it's because of her he'll never be the same again._

"I was so afraid," She admits, her hands dropping to her sides. Her chin falls against her chest as her own tears spill freely. "I couldn't leave you behind. I couldn't live if you didn't."

She expects him to walk away and closes her eyes because she can't bear to witness it. Her breath stills, waiting for the familiar _thump-shuffle-shuffle_.

It never comes.

Instead, Fitz leans forward and presses his lips to hers. The kiss is light, hesitant and unsure, but she feels it in her core. Her head tilts to meet him more fully and her hands reach out to anchor at his waist. Her fingers bunch in his t-shirt, worn from years of wear, twisting in the fabric. She's holding fast to him, afraid to let go.

When they part, he breathes her name. Soft and gentle, nervous for her reaction and seeking resolution.

"Jemma?"

There's laughter hidden in the back of her throat as she realizes that even when she thinks they aren't on the same page, they are. Neither of them are wordsmiths and so instead, she shyly allows her arms slink over his shoulders. When her body presses tighter against his, she's lets herself breathe fully for the first time since the accident.

"Let me show you."

_**::FIN::**_

_**Please leave a review if you can! **_


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